04 January 2010

George Plimpton Headache

I am sure I will die young
What cruel carpenter makes love only near the reclined
And I know, George Plimpton was never kidnapped
In the packed back seat of a Bentley car
Thought having read his obituary I prefer
Philip and his pounding contrast, its striation

My dream would not film easily
Insecurities of proof regarding
Petty, pretty, well-dressed bourgeois

Crumbled bosses promptly impressed, remain soigné
And shuffle their feet. But the ending's neat: things just
Flicker, a painted on Ka-Poe!, colors Bang!
Fall off the screen, a car door Bang! shedding snow
The black matte inverts, awake.
I am quite sure I will die young.

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